The wreckage lay in the sun. Twisted, charred and burned. Ticking and groaning as it cooled.

In Nevada the choppers scrambled. Men in black racing the locals to the scene.

Perimeter set, the clean up begins.

All of the evidence, both of the small grey bodies, removed.

To Area 51.

(C) Carter Lacey 2018

Advertisements

CAUTION – CONTAINS REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ABUSE AND ADULT LANGUAGE.

Ellie was naked. Brad was due home any time and she wanted to surprise him. Judging by the look on his face when she opened the door for him she succeeded. His dick soon took over from his brain and they were in the bedroom within seconds. Poor, predictable Brad. If only he’d been spontaneous enough to screw her on the hall floor, or the stairs or the kitchen table her plan would have failed there and then. But no, it had to be the bedroom.

Ellie undressed him and handcuffed him to the bed. He rarely allowed her to be in control, but her hunch played out, if he thought he was going to get laid he’d go along with most things. As soon as she was sure that he was well handcuffed, she stepped out of his eye line.

‘Hey, Babes, where are you going?’

Babes. She so hated that. It was just another way of reminding her that she had no control in this relationship, she was dependent on him. Any lingering doubt in her mind evaporated.

‘Just a second, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

She grabbed Brad’s erection, felt his body stiffen, and then leaned forward into his eye line. He looked at her and smiled. She pulled his erection, hard, to one side and pushed back again. He gasped, somewhere between pain and pleasure. She pulled again, this time harder and there was no doubt that the involuntary gasp this time was pain. She leaned over him and whispered in to his ear.

‘This is for all of the times you’ve made me gag on this’ another tug, another gasp ‘you filthy, ignorant git.’

She showed him an enormous dildo.

‘This is what I use when I want some fun, the kind you, and this tiny thing (another tug) can’t provide. And I’m going to enjoy this.’

She forced him to gasp again, then while his mouth was wide open rammed the dildo as far down his throat as she could. She thought she heard the sound of breaking teeth, an added bonus.

She showed him his own hunting knife. A souvenir of a short-lived obsession with camping. The purpose of which, as far as Ellie could ever see, was to get her drunk and naked outdoors so that he could take photographs. ‘I should castrate you,’ she whispered ‘but I’ve got other plans, so that might have to wait a bit.’

Tears started to stream down his face, mixing with the snot and saliva already there. Ellie smiled.

‘I can see why you enjoyed being such a bastard to me all these years, Brad, it is fun isn’t it?’

She caught hold of his balls and squeezed, hard.

‘Do you have any idea how humiliating it is when you do this sort of thing to me?’ Brad shook his head. ‘Want to know?’

Ellie picked up Brad’s phone and started to take pictures of him from various angles.

‘Now then, FaceBook or just email and text these out, what do you think?’

Brad screamed round the dildo and pulled hard against his cuffs. Ellie hit a few keys, then put the phone to one side.

‘You know why I’m doing this?’ she asked. He shook his head, tried to speak but couldn’t make himself heard. ‘Here’s why.’ She started to stroke his limp dick. He flinched, she laughed. ‘I’ve been keeping score. Every time you’ve made me suck this,’ she pulled hard, ‘every time you’ve made me “wear something nice” so you can show me off to your mates, every time you’ve forced me to screw you when I haven’t wanted to. I remember them all. And you know what?’ She looked straight into his eyes, hoping that he could see her clearly despite the tears. ‘I forgive you.’ His face creased in confusion, then relief. ‘I know that you’ve shown your mates pictures of these.’ She stood up and cupped her breasts. ‘I guess you’ve even sent them some nude shots from time to time. I could even, just about, ignore that.

‘No, Brad, why I’m doing this is because you don’t know where the line is and the other night you crossed it, big time.’ His eyes bulged. ‘Forcing me to Play strip poker with a marked deck to get me naked in front of your mates was bad enough.’ He shook his head violently. ‘Yes they were marked, I found the box in the bin this morning. Where was I, oh yes, forcing me to play was bad enough, letting your mates take pictures on their phones was stupid. But then you probably realised by Sunday morning that, in the sober light of day you’d gone too far and made yourself look a twat in front of them?’ He nodded. ‘But you know what really pissed me off, what caused all of this?’ He shook his head. ‘You laughed at me. You sat there while I was naked and humiliated and you fucking laughed. I’d have forgiven you looking at me with lust, I’d have forgiven pride in the face of your friends envy, I’d even have forgiven you ignoring me. But you fucking laughed, at me, naked in my own house in front of all of your mates, being leered at, fondled and being posted on God knows what websites. That’s why.’

She hit send on his phone, slipped a summer dress over her head and picked up her bag on the way out of the door.

‘Some of your mates will be here soon ‘for a game of poker’. You suggested that they might want to bring better cameras. I’ll leave the door open for them to get in shall I? Oh, and by the way, I actually enjoyed stripping for your mates. They’re all more man than you’ll ever be. I notice that you’re not laughing now, twat.’

Ellie most definitely did not slam the door as she picked up his car keys and headed off.

 

(c) Carter Lacey 2018

 

 

Police cars pull up, silently, out of sight. Armed police make their way up the hill to the shack. Just as that start to approach it explodes. A murder of crows takes off with a burst of noise.

Hidden, an old man sniggers, then walks to his new secret still.

(c) Carter Lacey 2018

I had friends. They trusted me. But one by one I had to let them go. They told me something I couldn’t tell the rest. Now I have no friends, just lots of secrets. The most important thing I’ve learned in life? That there’s no-one lonelier than a secret keeper.

 

(c) Carter Lacey 2018

“Paul! It is you?”

I turn and walk, speed up. He taps my shoulder.

“Paul, I know it’s you. Where have you been?”

Prison, but that’s not the point.

“Come on Paul, let’s get a drink?”

I turn again.

“Come on mate?” Less certain.

I walk away, dialling.

“Witness Protection. How can we help?”

“I’m blown!” I reply.

 

(c) Carter Lacey 2018

Rob was well in to his sixth pint of Stella by the time the usual evening crowd arrived. Not that there was much of a crowd in Jordan’s, it was the kind of place where you had to know it was there to find it, and you had to know someone there to get served. Everyone had a dodgy past, dodgy present or would soon have a dodgy future.

No one ever knew who ‘Jordan’ was, the bar was owned by Terry; an overweight, acne scarred, balding Geordie. Terry was the end of a long line of owners who all thought they could ‘turn the place around’ and soon found out that they couldn’t. Terry, somehow, seemed to make a profit, or at least be able to stand losing money, so had stuck around for longer than anyone else Rob could remember. That was why Rob considered Terry the closest thing he had to a friend, and why he was confiding in him.

‘It’s like this you see. I have…special needs in the bedroom. I need someone I can trust, and who will…provide them.’

‘Don’t we all,’ Terry answered. Rob wondered for a second whether Terry ever got his needs met, and if so who would be desperate enough to be the other person in the room. The image was not a good one.

‘Yeah, don’t we all,’ he answered, drowning the vision in one large gulp of warm Stella. ‘Get me another one would you Terry?’ And when Terry made no sign of movement, ‘And one for yourself of course.’ That got the desired effect, Terry shouted across to Diane, regular drinker and occasional barmaid, who brought across short measures which she still managed to spill onto the already sticky table. Both men watched in silence as she walked back to the bar.

‘What about her?’ Terry asked.

Rob pondered for a moment, sucked on his e-cig and blew out a cloud of scented steam. ‘Nah, not quite right. Close, but something off.’

The door opened and three regular couples came in. Terry, who despite his looks was astute enough when it came to an opportunity to make a pound, was behind the bar like a shot so that he could provide short measures and short change personally.

Diane took his seat. ‘You look down tonight, Rob, Problems?’

Rob paused, took a long sip and let lose another cloud of vape steam. ‘No, just need…err…something.’

‘You’re a good looking bloke. You have money. You have time on your hands. You could get “err…something” anytime. You wouldn’t need to look far.’

Rob took the hint, let her down with a handy cliché. ‘If you’re suggesting what I think you may be suggesting, you’re too good a mate for that. I’d hate to spoil our friendship.’

‘I still might be able to help you out. I have friends. Friends with special skills, if you know what I mean? Tell me what you need, I’ll find someone?’

‘Let me think about it? I’ll pay off my tab, you got the card machine?’

Diane waited while he slowly tapped in the four numbers of his pin, tore up the receipt, onto which she’d added enough drinks to keep her going all night, and set off for home alone.

Everyone knew that Rob had money. No one knew where from, and he was never particularly keen to tell. But he didn’t work, he didn’t appear to be a businessman and no one had ever seen him selling drugs or tax free fags, so they all assumed (Jordan’s being that sort of place) that he was living off the proceeds of some historic crime. Rumours ranged from a bank job right through to Brinks Matt. In truth he was widowed at 24, inherited some property at 26, and made some very astute investments. Coupled with a relatively frugal lifestyle (he lived, anonymously, in a bed sit in one of the houses he owned) he had no need to work and, compared to the manual, shop and office workers he mixed with, appeared well off. He either never noticed, or never complained about his inflated bar tabs.

 

Two days later Rob was at his usual table, usual pint. Terry was having a rare day off, so Diane was behind the bar, filing her nails. Otherwise the place was empty. Until a stunning red head walked in, ordered a bottle of champagne and told Diane that Rob was paying. Diane looked at Rob, who looked at the red head, made a decision, and nodded yes.

‘Jacqui, and you’re Rob.’ She held out a gloved hand for him to kiss. Rob felt something stir. ‘I’m Diane’s friend.’

‘You want that champagne to go?’ He asked.

‘No, you have to earn me.’ She replied.

In those six words she told Rob all he needed to know. He set about earning his reward.

 

The next morning he woke in his own bed, thinking that the night before must have been a bad dream because he never brought his special ladies home. He walked into the shower room and dry swallowed some paracetamol, showered, and winced in pain when the hot water hit the raw welts on his back. So she had been here. It was only when he walked back in to the bed-sitting room that Rob’s heart stopped. His cash box was open on the floor, and empty. His wallet alongside it, empty. Even his cards had gone. Fortunately whoever had done him over, and he was pretty sure he knew who that was, had not found his savings account book taped under a draw.

He phoned the bank, to find that his accounts had been cleared out and his credit cards all maxed out. He thumped the wall, which earned him a warning shout from the room next door to ‘keep it down, asshole, we heard enough from you last night.’ He dressed and headed for Jordan’s. Terry was behind the bar.

‘Where’s Diane?’

‘Dunno, she hasn’t been in today.’

‘You expecting her?’

‘She usually pops in, but I haven’t asked her to work or anything. Here, call her if you want her.’ He gave Rob a mobile number. It rang out without going to voicemail.

‘You know where that sister of hers hangs out?’ Rob asked.

‘Sister? She hasn’t got a sister.’

‘Tall? Redhead? Called Jacqui?’

‘Mate, that ain’t her sister, that’s her girlfriend. You knew she’s gay, right? I thought that was what you meant when you said you wanted something special and said she was nearly right? That’s why I put them on to you.’

Rob didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He settled for demanding a few pints on the house.

Neither of them saw Jacqui or Diane for quite some time…

(c) Carter Lacey 2017